In the City of Shadows, Candles, and Broken Things
by AutumnMobile12
Summary: Tales of the Underground District and the thieves, the unfortunates, and the condemned humans who live there.
1. The Ripper - City of Marrow

_The Ripper - City of Marrow_

In the city of shadows, candles, and broken things, fires were prohibited. Even in the dead of winter, when glossy layers of ice clung to the stalactites and blankets of snow fell through the ruptures giving way to the surface, when men could die huddled in groups and grieving mothers smothered their children rather than watch them freeze, lighting an outdoor fire was punishable by death. Tinder was precious and strictly regulated even in the world above; and the topside government didn't care for squealing babes and suffering beggars enough to squander valuable resources. As it stood, even the inexhaustible dried cow pats were reluctantly sold, and driven at insane prices.

Kenny Ackerman scowled.

He'd bet his sharpest knife it was the Military Police themselves who lit this bonfire. Whoever had wasn't even trying to hide it, planting it smack in the middle of the plaza where anyone could stumble across it. He could even see a pair of MPs standing at the edge of the crumbling market, rubbing their gloved hands together, breathing hot air into their cupped palms, and making no move to do as they were instructed and stamp out the flames.

Of course, such a thing would be unwise. As an inkling of heat began to fill the massive cavern, many of the Underground inhabitants had emerged from the shadows, like tattered and filthy moths, and settled down before the makeshift brazier. Cloaked individuals and ragged families, whimpering children, thieves, whores, fugitives, assassins, and so on. Drunken men staggered out of the taverns to see what the commotion was outside and laughed and called out to their friends when they discovered the warm fire waiting for them. The barkeepers and serving girls soon followed to cater to them. Stray cats and mangy dogs stepped forward to warm their paws by the flames. Somewhere in the sparse crowd, an old musician's crooked fingers had warmed enough to play his fiddle, and a tune that was neither happy nor sad reverberated throughout the Underground. A pack of youngsters had gathered around this man who danced and played around an overturned hat on the ground. He was joined by a guitarist some time later, followed by a woman drumming an overturned barrel and ringing the tarnished bells on her fingers. Before long, a raucous gathering was echoing throughout the subterranean city.

If the Military Police wanted to put the fire out, it was probable they'd have a riot to deal with next.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Kenny closed his eyes. He'd forgotten how bitterly cold it could get down here. Since arriving in the Underground a month ago, he'd found himself wearing heavy coats and scarves indoors, even while he slept. He'd made his home in the hayloft of an abandoned stable from when humanity was hopeful about retreating below the surface to escape the titans. It was a nice enough place, he supposed. At least by Underground standards. The leftover straw had rotted away years ago, but the wooden stalls were miraculously still intact, and the stink of horses was long gone. He couldn't complain.

It was a secure place to stay at any rate, and one in his line of work could never argue with that.

At the sound of the warped floorboards creaking, he opened his eyes, one hand instinctively reaching for the knife concealed in his coat. It was probably nothing: a 'client' leaving for the night, one of the prostitutes coming to investigate the commotion outside, maybe the Proprietor had gotten off his drunken ass for once.

But as he trained his eyes on the light on the weathered porch cast from the open doorway, a tall shadow grew into the form of a woman and a shock of coal black hair caught his eye. The interloper was shorter than him by a head, had white skin as pale as the moon, she wore and ill-fitting, grey dress that was fraying at the hem. She observed the illegal bonfire with calm, blue eyes, blinking groggily and yawning, then glanced up at him.

"Hey."

She nodded, crossing her arms and rubbing small circles into her swollen belly. "Who started the fire?"

Kenny shrugged, holding his hands out palm side up. "No idea. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

The woman laughed quietly and asked in a low voice, "And how am I supposed to do that? Between this damnable cold, this unbelievable racket, and this impossible child, you may as well ask for the moon."

He grinned, allowing an indulgent chuckle, and wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders, quickly kissing her coal black hair. In response, his little sister sleepily tucked her head into the hollow of his neck and murmured softly to her unborn baby.

Her pregnancy seemed almost unreal to him. It didn't seem that long ago she was a baby herself, the tiny newborn cradled in their exhausted mother's arms. Even now, so many years later, he could remember his father lifting him up to see her little, red face all pinched up as though she were smelling something awful. He remembered her gripping his thumb in her tiny hand, holding her whenever Mother needed a rest, wiping breakfast off her face when she was sloppy, and he remembered the day she learned to walk. How she'd toddled her way up to him, before Mother or Father or anyone else, and threw her chubby arms around his neck, as if she'd known who would adore and protect her in the years to come.

She was too young to have a child, surely. Even if she was nearly a grown woman, she was still his baby sister. He pulled her closer, resting his jaw atop her dark hair. And all he had left.

Ever since their father was killed in an accident-or murdered, depending on the point of view-and their mother died of a winter chill, they'd meant everything to each other. It was a cold, cruel, and absurd world, where men betrayed each other and only the strongest survived. He'd learned that lesson long ago and nearly at the cost of his life. Kuchel had learned it the same day, the exact second before she fought back against the man trying to kill them and stabbed him to death with his own knife.

They used to be innocent.

They used to play together on the surface, chasing each other through the grasslands and forest surrounding Dulce Village, fishing in the river, tumbling down the snowy foothills in the winter. Had they stayed, they would've remained that way. Had they stayed, he probably would've been hired on as a farmhand when he was old enough. Kuchel's baby would probably be legitimate, the child of some nice topside fellow she married. Had they stayed, they would've been happy.

Had the king and his damned hunting dogs left them alone, they would've blissfully unaware of their family's bloody heritage.

But the king's men came, determined to exterminate the last of the Ackermans for reasons they didn't understand.

Two thousand gold sinas for him if captured. One thousand for his sister. A doubled price and citizenship in the Interior for just their heads. And that was before they became 'The Ripper.' He grimaced. Since then, the bounty for their deaths had been doubled and tripled over and over until it reached a point where he doubted the Crown would even be able to pay the price they offered.

 _Such fools._

Kuchel tugged at his coat and he found her watching him with a concerned glance, one hand still resting over the bulge in her dress. Gods, he was going to murder the son of a bitch who did that to her, he promised and kissed her forehead. "How long?"

She shrugged, holding her hands out palms up. "Talitha says any day now. You'll be here?"

"Why wouldn't I?" This wasn't the first time she'd asked. He took her hand in his.

By now, the gathering at the fire had acquired a singer whose haunting voice chilled hearts and echoed throughout the cavern, mournfully harmonizing with the thudding drum, the broken guitar, and the keening violin.

"Sad tune." He remarked.

Kuchel hummed in agreement.

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: A series of one-shots featuring the residents and regulars of the Underground. I don't know how many chapters there will be for this one, but I'm shooting for a minimum of twenty.

A note on this one in particular, in the sixty-fifth and sixty-ninth chapters, I got the impression the violent and heartless Kenny the Ripper really did love his sister since he apparently 'was looking for her' when they met up in the Underground, and he was paying a visit when he found her dead. The title comes from 'City of Marrow' by SJ Tucker, which is an amazing song and I highly recommend listening to it at some point.

Let me know what you think, and if you liked it, be sure to check out my other Shingeki no Kyojin series Tavern Ventures.

Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin is owned by Hajime Isayama, City of Marrow is owned by SJ Tucker.


	2. The Mother - Song of the Caged Bird

_The Mother - Song of the Caged Bird_

Hanging the laundry always brought her back to when she was a little girl. She used to 'help' her mother hang out the bed sheets and clothes. If by help, she meant chasing after Kenny and roughhousing in the tall grass. She remembered Rosalie hanging sheets in the yard behind their house, keeping a watchful eye on the two of them.

Neither of them looked anything like their mother. Rosalie's face was soft and round, her eyes were calf-brown and gentle, and her hair fell in golden waves unbound. Perhaps their neighbors suspected indecency there. How could they not? A lone woman suddenly appearing in their midst with fatherless children? How unseemly! A proper widow returned to her father or was adopted by her late husband's family. She didn't establish a household of her own as if she had something sinful to hide.

They did eventually learn to live with the mystery in the little cabin a short walk away from the town. And why wouldn't they? Rosalie was one of the sweetest women the Walls had ever known, with never a harsh word for anyone. Kuchel liked to believe it was her kindness and pure heart that was what drew their father, Marius, to her. The people of Dulce grew to love her and her brother, too, and often made jokes about the stark contrast in their appearances compared to Mother, laughing good-naturedly as they patted Kenny's coal black hair and pinched her angular cheeks.

Kuchel missed those days by the River Dulce. She missed her childhood. She missed the river and its cool water, the dark forest and its hiding places, the open grass plain and fertile fields that yielded wheat and corn and potatoes year after year. She missed Herr Farrell's old plowhorse and the barn cat, Elsa, who often napped on his back. She missed Rosalie's pride when they brought her fish they'd trapped in the river or supplies they'd bartered from their fellow villagers. She missed the friends they'd made, the ones they played with in the fields, in forest, and by the river. She missed her innocence. And today, she missed most of all the topside wind and how it made the laundry sway back and forth as it dried.

In the Underground's maddeningly stagnant air, the sheets and blankets and clothes hung limp and smelled sour. Evidence of filth that could never truly wash away.

Hearing a rustling at her feet, Kuchel looked down and found with some amusement Levi was playing turtle with the laundry basket. The overturned wicker basket buffeted her foot and she moved away. Crawling forward, the boy nudged her again. She smiled, this time moving out of the way entirely. The basket continued bravely onward in search of her ankles, only to stop about two or three paces later. A small hand slid out from under the shell, feeling around for her, then the basket overturned and her son raised his head in a puzzled search.

Kuchel didn't give him long before she ran at him. Levi saw her coming and tried to get away, but she caught him up and swung him around. "You silly! What were you planning there, sneaking up on me like that."

Her son grinned sheepishly and threw his arms around her neck, burying his face in her shoulder. Kuchel closed her eyes and smiled, brushing her pale cheek against his soft, black hair and rocking slowly back and forth. "You know," She told him, pointing to the cavern sky. "I used to live on the surface when I was a little girl."

Levi followed her finger with a pair of bewildered blue eyes.

"And when I hung sheets out to dry topside, the wind would make them dance. Like this." Rising to her feet and taking hold of the clothesline, she rocked it gently back and forth to demonstrate. The word 'wind' was not often used in the Underground, more commonly replaced by just 'draft', and the sight of the swaying sheets practically mesmerized her child.

But he grinned shortly and kissed her cheek. "Silly Mama. Up there is Heaven. No one lives there until they die."

That certainly startled her. "Is it now?" Was the only thing she could think to say.

Her son nodded, "Sybille says so."

Kuchel forced an uneasy smile. "Well, then it certainly must be so." She was a godless woman. Always had been. When she and Kenny were children, their devout Wallist mother had tried teaching them scripture from the Book of Sina, but even the sweet and gentle Rosalie had been unable to invoke any faith in their hearts. Kuchel smothered a bitter scowl. There was no divine intervention to keep her mother from coughing her last in that freezing cabin. No angels watched over her and her brother when they spent the remainder of their childhood on the run, contravening every moral Mother had ever taught them until stealing and killing became as natural as eating and breathing. They didn't have god keeping them safe during the day or lighting their way during the night.

And no god would ever cast his, or her, loving eye on this city of mold and darkness.

"Mama? Did I say something wrong?"

Kuchel shook her head. "No, sweet. You said nothing wrong."

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: For anyone who's familiar with D Gray Man, when I picture the Underground, I sometimes picture the Lost City of Mater, aka 'The Land Forsaken By God'

I asked my sister to proofread this, and she finished, I asked if she thought it was okay to post in spite of how short it was. She just answered, "It's little baby Levi. Where can you go wrong?" Very true, sis.

This chapter's song: Song of the Caged Bird by Lindsey Stirling.

Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan is owned by Hajime Isayama.


	3. The Thief - Drama For Life

The Thief - Drama for Life

The Festival of Persephone was in full swing by the time Levi stumbled into the main plaza, clutching his side as hot blood seeped through his fingers. He sagged against the wall of the alley, breathing hard and blinking furiously to clear his blurring vision. No one took notice of the thief, far too distracted by the carnival with its music and dancing. Through his struggle with lucidity, he could make out shadows as they passed before the hundreds of lanterns strung throughout the cavern. Party-goers in garishly colored clothes and lanterns assembled from cheap and highly flammable paper. A trio of children ran past him, shrieking with excitement, and the sound nearly made head split in two.

 _Shit…shit, shit._ Levi felt himself beginning to slide into a heap on the ground. His leg and stomach throbbed as he collapsed. The bullet that had snagged his leg had passed through him, he was sure of it. It had taken a good chunk of him with it, and he didn't even want to think about the damage the second one had done to his organs. He was damned lucky for making it this far. _Damn you, Fürst! Dammit!_

That double-crossing shitbucket! Levi grit his teeth and hauled himself back to his feet. He couldn't die here, not in this cesspool, not after all the trouble he'd gone through tonight. Damned if he was going to let Fürst of all the scumbags in the Underground to have the satisfaction of killing him. Levi swiped his hand across his face, hurriedly wiping away the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, and forced himself back to his feet. Home. All he had to do was get home…and the rest…

He straightened, despite the screaming pain in his leg and stomach, and began to limp his way through the throng of people, hiding the blood stains beneath his long coat. If he drew attention to himself, there would be a panic and then the Military Police would come to investigate the man bleeding to death in the middle of the festival. They would ask questions. And he was not entirely innocent in this matter. Levi cursed under his breath, dodging a masked man twirling about in the street like a lunatic. He should've known better than to deal with Fürst anyway. Not while the Black Vale incident was still fresh in everyone's minds. Bastard had been high out of his mind, too. The whole situation had reeked and he'd walked right into it, as though he were a damned greenhorn. Thomas was going to kill him.

Levi grimaced at the thought of facing Thomas, then put it in the back of his mind. _Home…_ How much further did he have to go now? Would anyone be looking for him? No…that was a foolish thought. Rat and Campbell were lying dead back in that abandoned storehouse, gunned down by Fürst and his thrice-damned thugs. Then there was Aust, who'd been missing since April. Most likely killed and disposed of by the Kouman Syndicate in Lower Reaping. And he'd made Tzipora promise not to look for him should he ever go missing. Levi coughed again and wiped his mouth. _A little further…I've come this far…_ Just a bit further, he thought as he placed his hand on the walls of a familiar pub for support. A little further and he'd be home. And yet, the five minute walk from the plaza to his safe haven seemed an eternity now. Or a sea of glass shards. Levi bit back a cry as pain shot though his leg. _Oh, Sina…_

Where he found the strength to drag himself down Rambling and up those stairs he didn't know. As he staggered up to the door of his home, Levi threw himself against the wooden surface with a loud crash and fell to the ground. He heard running footsteps, then the door flung open, and Tzipora stood above his bleeding form, almost Persephone herself in the light of the room behind her. Upon seeing her, Levi closed his eyes in relief even as the woman fell to her knees beside him, crying out his name and demanding to know what happened. "God, are you bleeding? Levi!"

"Calm down." He coughed, tasting blood yet again. "Go get the Surgeon."

"What happened to the others?" She cried, noticing he'd returned alone. "Oh, Sina, did Fürst—"

"Never mind them." Levi spat out blood. "I've been shot, Tzipora. Go get the Surgeon."

"We have nothing to pay him with." Tzipora answered, her eyes frantic but her voice calm as she hauled him back to his feet and half-dragged, half-carried him inside, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. Levi grimaced, but she ignored it, "He won't come."

"Tell him that if I live, I'll score some of that damned Glass he likes so much. Ahh, easy!" Levi hissed in pain as she eased him onto the ugly, blue settee by the wall. He cracked his eyes open to look at her.

"I'm sorry." Tzipora took his arm off her shoulders and felt his perspiring forehead. "Where are you hurt?"

Levi grit his teeth and clutched at his side. "It doesn't matter, you can't dig the bullet out yourself. Go get—"

"No, we can't deal with him again!"

"Tzipora!" He yelled, grabbing her shoulder and fixing her with the fiercest glare he could muster given the circumstances. He understood her reluctance. In more way's than one, the Surgeon was a man far more despicable and cruel than Fürst. Where Fürst was simply a brute out for money and a competitor for the title of 'toughest bloke in the Underground'—Fürst's words, not his—the Surgeon was cold and calculating. An intelligent man, a student of medicine from the esteemed Einrich College from which he'd been expelled for malpractice and 'questionable morals'. Whatever parts of his brain hadn't been devoured by drink and drug, the Surgeon used to practice medicine in this hellish city. Levi had run afoul of him several times in the past, and each occasion he swore never again to seek the rogue doctor out. Yet this night, like all their encounters before, he had no choice. The Surgeon, like it or not, was likely the only man in the Underground who could save his life.

Gritting his teeth in both pain and frustration, Levi snarled in Tzipora's frightened face, "Go. Get. The Surgeon. Do it now, or you're going to be selling my fresh corpse to him." And as though to prove his point, a river of blood spilled from his mouth, dripping from his jaw and forever staining the settee.

That seemed to get the woman's attention, for she pulled herself out of his grasp, grabbed up her knife, and tucked it into her belt. Without another word, she fled the room, slamming the door behind her and he again heard her running footsteps. Levi closed his eyes and let out a long breath of air. Outside, he could hear the violin music of the Festival of Persephone. Today marked the last day of autumn, the end of the harvest and the time to celebrate the dead and pass along messages to departed loved ones by sending the Queen of the Underworld off in grand style. Fires and music and wine and sugar treats, colorful lanterns and bright clothes would reign within the Walls and in the City of Shadows, Candles, and Broken Things.

Levi coughed and was appalled by the horrid gurgling noise that escaped his throat. He recalled his mother during the festival. She used to sing and dance before the plaza's bonfire, a woman of extraordinary grace, her black as coal hair and tattered, grey dress twirling as she pirouetted with all the fluidity of water in the darkness. Levi hadn't written a message to her in years; it was only a custom observed by children. Like writing letters to St. Nicolas. A trifle. Blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth and his breathing came in shaking gasps. No matter. If the Surgeon didn't come soon…he would be seeing her again. Sooner rather than later.

The violin played on.

When Levi opened his eyes again, he found himself looking at a face that seem to suit a corpse more than a man. Its skin was pale as a bone picked clean and riddled with sores and pockmarks. The mouth was a thin slit curled into a grim smile that revealed rotting and missing teeth. The Surgeon had no hair, not even eyebrows, and his cheeks and eyes had sunken deep into his skull. And what eyes they were, sharp and blue and shining with malice. "Hello, there, Levi." The Surgeon whispered, drawing a vile syringe from his black satchel. "I see you've been caught in the jaws of Death yet again. I do hope I can deliver you this time."

Levi closed his eyes.

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: Been awhile with this one, hasn't it? Happy Halloween!

Musical Inspiration: Drama for Life by Poets of the Fall

Shingeki no Kyojin belongs to Hajime Isayama.


	4. The Wife - Rocky Road to Dublin

The Wife - Rocky Road to Dublin

Behind her was the eerie silence of the Underground, ahead was the roar of a cheering crowd, and in between the echoes of her footsteps in that narrow tunnel. The air reeked of liquor and cigars, conjuring an image of smoke-filled rooms, stale poker tables, and musty-smelling cards. She was no stranger to the stench—oh, no, never to that vile stink of the Underground fight pits and gambling halls.

Tzipora brushed her hair from her pale face, her bright blue eyes squinting at the light ahead. The cheers were louder now, the crowd becoming more and more rowdy as the fight escalated beyond their former anticipations. _Men._ She huffed in exasperation, blowing a strand of blond hair from her face. If it weren't for her Thief, she wouldn't be caught dead in such a depraved locale. She'd seen more than her fair share of such revolting things in her childhood, and yet… Tzipora sighed as she entered the main pit, frowning at the countless men crammed into the crude, wooden bleachers, all of them shouting and swearing and shaking their fists as the two contenders battled in the arena.

Her Thief was standing at one end of the ring. And twenty paces away was the Boar, a hulking man of seven feet, with a scalp of black tattoos instead of hair. He was a mountain compared to her Thief, ask anyone, and she glared at him as she approached the arena. Sparrow was there, too, standing on the opposite side, taking bets from the men around him and laughing jovially as he did so. She caught his eye once, and he nodded as though nothing was wrong. Well, nothing was wrong. This kind of thing was entirely normal. Perfectly common in the Underground.

She knew this. She understood it just as well as she grasped the memory of poker, liquor, and cigars.

Tzipora crossed her arms as her Thief feinted left and darted forward, ramming his fist into the Boar's cheek in a solid, right hook. The giant man howled in rage and charged, like his namesake, barreling toward the Thief, who side-stepped smoothly away. The Boar did not impact with the wall, as comedy would suggest, but rather turned at the last minute to face the Thief, raising his fists to his eyes to fight. His hands were huge, she thought. He would have no trouble crushing her Thief's throat or dashing his head against the ground if he ever got the chance. Tzipora put a hand to her mouth and turned away.

If not for the shouting of the onlookers, she would have heard the Boar's taunts, and then the Thief's silent response of running straight for him, only to leap for the chest-high wall of the arena. He would use the cheap, wooden blockade to propel himself through the air and onto the Boar's back, where he would jam his fingers into his eyes and punch him repeatedly until his thick skull surrendered to the blows and the man collapsed. Tzipora did not watch as the fight's referee came forth, declaring her Thief the winner by grabbing his wrist and holding it into the air. The room exploded into a din of cheers and curses. Bets were paid, last drinks had, and before the minute was up, the entirety of spectators were filing out the doors, on their way to the nearest taverns or brothels. Possibly both with the way some men behaved.

Tzipora sniffed and circled the arena.

Contestants always retreated into the back room after fighting. Her Thief was no different. Tzipora wove her way through the press of bodies, even resorting to shoving them aside or squeezing her way past them as through they were no more than a family of rats crammed into a overcrowded nest. If only she hadn't lost track of Sparrow, then maybe she'd have an easier time of this.

She had made it almost halfway before a new annoyance showed itself: a young, male MP cutting her off with a leering smile, his arm barring her way. "Hello, lovely. Where might you be off to?"

When she was young, her elders would pinch her cheeks and tell her young ladies with hair as golden as hers, tresses that gleamed like the fabled sun, were blessed with long lives and good fortune in the Abyss. Blessed by sunlight, they whispered. Yet her hair had never brought her anything but grief and unwanted attention.

The MP placed an unwelcome hand on her shoulder, smiling smugly into her face with all the pleasantries of an eel in the gutter. "How about you and I find a private corner to conduct business, sweetheart. I've a gold coin for you. Two if I can have you for the night."

Tzipora primly took his hand off her shoulder with no more regard for a dead snake on her kitchen floor. "No thank you, my husband's expecting me."

"I won't keep you long, then." The man reached for her again. "He can have you back once I've finished."

"I'd let her be if I were you." She heard Sparrow's voice behind her. Tzipora breathed a sigh of relief. "Tonight's victor won't appreciate you harassing her."

The rookie MP's eyes faltered then, and Tzipora caught a glimpse of his partner standing to the left, and older gentleman with a mirthful look in his eye. She smiled at the youngster as Sparrow materialized at her side, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you run along now?" He asked.

The MP glanced her up and down one last time, then looked to the arena—no doubt recalling the brutality of the fight—before he finally scowled and turned to leave, stalking away through the crowd. Tzipora grinned and cheekily waved goodbye at his retreating form, then regarded her companion with a grateful nod. "Evening, Farlan."

"Hey." The young man, barely more than fifteen, grinned at her, ruffling her 'lucky' hair beneath his hand. "I see you decided to come see the show."

Tzipora rolled her eyes. "Yes, the _spectacular_ performance of man vs man beating each other senseless in the epic production of broken bones and shattered skulls."

Farlan shrugged. "We can't all be first-rate actors, you know."

The woman jabbed his ribs with her elbow and continued making her way through the crowd, now thin enough to traverse without hindrance. Farlan did not follow her into the back room; he never did. Tzipora found Levi standing before one of the cracked mirrors, patching up a cut he'd acquired in the fight. Upon seeing her reflection, the man straightened and pivoted on his heel to face her, a wide grin crossing his face.

Tzipora smiled back as he took her into his arms, stroking her blond hair and kissing her forehead. "And what were your winnings today, love?" He asked.

The Wife giggled.

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: Not usually one for OCs, but I wanted to explore this idea. Levi's in his late thirties, only six years of his life have been on the surface. (Wow, that's depressing writing that down.) So there's an entire lifetime to work with in the Underground. What if there was a significant other involved way back when? There probably won't be too many of these one-shots with Tzipora, although I do have a couple planned out here and there. (Such as how they met and so forth.) But for the most part, City of Shadows is mostly chronicling Levi's criminal life.

Musical Inspiration: Rocky Road to Dublin by Young Dubliners.

Shingeki no Kyojin belongs to Hajime Isayama.


	5. The Child - Where Do We Belong

Author's Notes: Fair warning, this one contains some violence. Though non-descriptive and brief, it does include the deaths of children. If you find this kind of writing distressing, I would not recommend reading this one. I personally found it disturbing to write and therefore toned it down as much as I was able. That being said, thank you for checking this installment of City of Shadows, even if this author's note is as far as you read.

Song Inspiration: 'Give Us A Little Love' by Fallulah.

Shingeki no Kyojin belongs to Hajime Isayama.

-0-0-0-

The Child - Where Do We Belong?

It was always that same nightmare.

The winter winds howling outside the manor house and rattling the windows in their casings. The guest room had been dark, save for the light of a small candle their mother kept burning through the night. In this nightmare, he was always lying next to his baby sister and Mother would be cuddling them both. Now and then, she would sigh and gently run her fingers through his black hair thinking him fast asleep, and then she would sit up and begin sobbing into her delicate hands. Neither of them had slept through a night since Father died. Only little Kuchel had that luxury.

Even in his sleep, Kenny braced himself. He knew what happened next.

Kuchel would wake up and begin crying, most likely afraid of the screaming wind outside, despite the candle lit to comfort her in the darkness. Mother would then scoop her up and comfort her, humming a soft lullaby and rocking her in her arms. He himself would remain where he was, still pretending to be asleep and listening to the snowstorm raging outside. Kuchel was easily mollified that night and soon drifted back to sleep in their mother's arms, but before she could tuck her back into bed, there was a shout in the hall. Mother raised her head, startled. Listening. The bedroom door was closed and the cry had been muffled by the thick walls, but it couldn't be passed off as imagination. Kenny sat up then, looking to Mother, but she ignored him. Wearing only her nightgown and carrying her baby girl, she took the candle at their bedside and walked cautiously to the door. Screams could be heard now. Terrible screams he would never forget, even in the waking world.

Not even monsters can forget such horrors.

In a mix of curiosity and fear, Kenny slid off the bed and followed Mother to the door. He expected her to tell him to go back to sleep, but she slipped quietly into the hall and whispered for him to hold onto her skirt instead. _Don't let go._ He remembered her whispering. She led him into the dimly lit corridor, holding the candle out as they walked. The screaming had faded away, replaced by an eerie silence in which he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest. He called out to Mother once and she shushed him with a frightened hiss. Always timid his mother was.

After a time, they left the corridor and came out into the manor's main hall and he remembered seeing shadows lying broken on the stairs. When the light of the candle fell upon them, he knew before Mother screamed it was death. Aunt Anastasia's corpse lay in a twisted heap, her dressing gown stained in blood. There was a knife in her cold, white hand, a twisted dagger that glinted in the candlelight. Her face was horrible, frozen in despair and hatred, mouth agape and navy blue eyes wide. Her throat had been cut. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst of it were her three children, the eldest nine and youngest four lying around her, each of them having shared the same fate as his father's sister. He saw his cousins' terrified faces and known immediately the last thing they'd seen was their mother's murder before the killer turned his blade on them one by one. They'd played together the day before. Edmund, Vivian, Hirah. Just a day ago, they'd all been alive and happy.

Never before or since was death's cold truth so clear to him.

Then his own mother screamed. It was always that scream that woke him up, echoing in his ears whenever he opened his eyes.

Kenny sat up slowly, careful not to his head on the low ceiling of his shelter, and peered out into the mist-filled morning. The rainstorm that had forced him and his sister to take refuge under this old farmhouse had ceased some time in the night, leaving behind an eerie calm across the countryside. Good. Kenny nodded grimly and shook Kuchel awake. She was curled up beside him and responded to his touch immediately, raising her head with alert blue eyes. Seeing no immediate danger, the girl got to her hands and knees and crawled after him.

They did not say a word to each other. Didn't have to. Kenny made his way to the gap between the porch and the steps and peered out across the morning. The farmer and his family hadn't yet risen. No one was in the fields or tending to the animals. There was only silence. It was perfect. He looked back at his little sister in askance. Her dirt-smudged face nodded, her mouth set in a grim, solemn line. The two children burst from the hollow under the porch and fled toward the forest, launching themselves over the wooden fence surrounding the property. Kenny paused to ensure Kuchel was following, letting her run ahead just to keep her in sight. Yet before he followed her into the trees, he paused to watch the rising sun and automatically thanked the Three Sisters they'd lived to see it again.


End file.
